


Start With A Whimper

by ToukoTai



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-16 00:17:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5805865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToukoTai/pseuds/ToukoTai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But go out with a bang.</p><p>In a world where Connie couldn’t get the information through hacking, Agent Washington becomes the best source of intel for everything Project Freelancer. The only problem is, it’s hard to get into recovery one to talk to an Article 12.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I finished this a while ago, but just never posted it. I did have the first few chapters on my tumblr but accidentally forgot to update.  
> Whoops.

Certified Article 12. That’s the phrase that seems to haunt the team. CT in particular, everyone else in general. There’s an empty spot in the team roster. And his name is Agent Washington. Of course, everything that actually had his name on it, is gone. His bunk is cleaned out, his locker is empty and the nameplate that was on said locker, taken off. Literally overnight he disappeared from Project Freelancer.

He went in for his implantation and never came out. And no one has seen him since. At a debriefing, only hours after he was supposed to have entered Recovery One, they were told the implantation had failed and Wash had failed along with it. He wasn’t dead, but for all intents and purposes, he might as well have been.

Certified Article 12. His AI had been unstable, they were told, had done the equivalent of burning a hole through his brain, in an attempt to burn itself out. The current AI implanted freelancers would be thoroughly evaluated, to make sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that their AI were stable and the integration between freelancer and AI, had worked as it was supposed to. The implantation schedule, due to the problems between Carolina and Washington, was put on hold, indefinitely. South had stormed out at that point and CT had seen her later, in the gym, venting her frustration on a punching bag, swearing the entire time.

 

Outside of the rather large blip of Washington and Carolina, training continues as usual for the Freelancers. CT becoming increasingly frustrated and annoyed as her hacking attempts turn up very little information about the project. And what it does turn up, is bits and pieces that don’t make much sense. Internal is turning up the heat and she’ll have to lay low soon. She’s had to cut off contact with the Insurrectionists already. She doesn’t want to have nothing to show for her time here. In a stroke of luck she finds a lead. A string of encrypted text, floating randomly, in a little used section of the ship’s network. When she cracks it, her next step is clear.  _ Epsilon-Memory is the key _ .

Epsilon was Wash’s AI, she doesn’t think this encryption and that AI, essentially committing suicide(inside Washington’s mind) are a coincidence. The only solid connection to Epsilon now, is Agent Washington. Agent Washington, who was declared Article 12 and no one on the squad has seen or talked to since. CT follows that thought, follows a lot of thoughts about this.

Epsilon was special in some way, considering this encryption and what happened. Wash had Epsilon in his mind. Epsilon tried to burn itself out while still in Wash’s head. Washington was confirmed Article 12 by the Counselor and placed in Recovery One. And now that she’s thinking, Connie has to wonder why no one has been permitted in to see Wash. To talk to him. 

She latches on to that. There are two possibilities. Washington knows something and the Director is keeping him isolated to prevent anyone from finding out. Or he doesn’t know anything and is legitimately insane. The payout, if she’s right, is too big for her to ignore. She needs to get into Recovery One.

 

This turns out to be easier said then done. Recovery One is on lockdown. No one in or out unless they are essential, medical personnel. They’re told it’s for Agent Washington’s mental health, no disruptions. Injured are being taken by Recovery Two, a smaller facility, on the other side of the ship. Connie knows this because she intentionally allows herself to get punched in the face during training and falls wrong to sprain her wrist. She winds up in Recovery Two. The main hallway into Recovery One, which had always been open, has its door closed and locked. CT has never been good with physical locks. But she knows someone who is.

 

York has been out of sorts, since the incident with Carolina and now Washington. He approaches Connie before she can even begin to decide how to approach him.

“You’re trying to break into Recovery One, right?” He asks, without preamble, cornering her in an empty, out of the way, hall. Connie nods her head once, warily. York leans against the wall. “I thought so.”

“You’ve been watching me.” Her accusation is sharp, York only shrugs. It does make CT more alert, more nervous. If York has been watching her without her noticing, who else has?

“You’ve been acting more shifty then usual.” He returns. “What are-” She shakes her head once sharp and he cuts off. She takes a page from Maine’s book, opens her short wave text relay instead and sends York a burst. His helmet tips in confusion but he returns the burst. In for a penny, in for a pound, she thinks. And tells York  _ everything _ . Things she knows, things she suspects, and everything in between about Project Freelancer. She ends with Washington, with how much is riding on Washington and her getting in to see him. He’s silent at the end. Probably discussing things with Delta. Finally his helmet tips up and meets her helmet’s lens. “Sounds like a plan.”

 

_ What happens if he knows? _ York sends her the next day. The two are on the observation deck watching South and Wyoming face off. CT considers.

_ Call the Insurgent leader for extraction _ . York shifts on his feet, a small movement, but it draws North’s attention.

_ Break him out? We’re going to need help. _

_ Who did you have in mind? _ His helmet tips to the side, another small movement, this time indicating North. In the training room, South has taken the fight right into Wyoming’s face with a well-placed fist. The sniper never was very good at hand to hand, an area that South exceeded at.

_ I’ve got my own target too _ . She sends back. Her eye catches on the black armored figure in the corner.

 

_ He’s in _ . She receives the next day, and smiles in her helmet where no one can see.

 

_ I’m in _ . The short text burst makes CT’s day for the next week.

  
Over that week North, York and Wyoming all go in for re-evaluation and come out with AI’s and sanity intact. Tex isn’t called in. From the frustratingly small glimpses CT has managed to liberate from the ship’s files, there’s a very good reason for that. The same reason no one has seen Tex without a helmet, or bleed, for instance. Maine goes in and doesn’t come out for a while. Connie and York infiltrate Recovery One that night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey there Agent Washington, you don't look like you're doing so hot.

For once, York manages to not set off the alarm, Connie attributes it to Delta’s help. She can almost picture the smug grin under the helmet when York tilts his head to her’s.

“Statistically, you can’t fail every time.” She whispers at him.   


“That is correct, Agent Connecticut.” Delta confirms, blinking into green lit existence, York’s shoulders slump slightly, Delta moves on to business. “According to Article 12 protocol, Agent Washington should have an isolated room.”    


“Room?” York snorts. “This whole wing is isolated.”    


“Indeed, this is much more... _ intensive _ than what protocol calls for.” CT and York move as silently as possible down the hallway, hugging the walls and moving into camera blind spots, as directed by Delta.   


“Do you know which room?” CT asks, as they wait for a opening.   


“I am checking Recovery One records right now, Agent Connecticut.” There’s absolute quiet except for the whirr of the ship around them and the distant hum of the engines. 

“According to intake forms, Agent Washington is located in Room 17B. The first room on our left, after this turn.”    
In no time at all the two agents, and one AI, stood in front of an unassuming steel grey door. Large block numbers proclaimed it to be 17B. York was concentrating on the keypad/cardswipe lock, Delta giving him advice every now and then.   


“Damn. They’ve got really good security on this.” He grumbled. Connie was concentrating on breathing. Extra security measures were good, she told herself, it meant the Director was worried about what Washington might know. She was distracting herself just as surely as York was. Because behind the door, was Wash, stupid, dorky, Wash. Wash, who was now an Article 12. Declared insane, mentally unstable, unfit for duty. Connie didn’t know what to expect, and she hated that. She shouldn’t be afraid of Wash, he was the rookie, the least dangerous(not technically speaking) of them all. 

And outside of Carolina, he had it the worst of them all.

 

Inside, the room was lowly lit and very sparse. A chair, a roller side table, a ton of monitors and a bed. The room is dead silent, not even the monitors make a sound, just random points of light and lines drawing across their surface. CT held her breath as the two moved further inside, their boots making soft thuds on the floor, despite their best efforts. Washington is an unmoving figure in the bed. CT notes, distantly, that his wrists are restrained to the bars of the hospital bed, and she would bet anything that under the blankets, his feet are too.Thankfully, it appears as though Wash is asleep, eyes closed and breath evened out. CT hides her own sigh of relief at that. They’ll have to wake Wash up sooner or later, to get what he knows, but for now, she can put off that confrontation. York had picked up a tablet from the bedside table and was scrolling through it. Connie had no doubt that Delta was downloading as much as he could to memory, to look over later. She turned her attention to the monitors. Counting a heart monitor, a brain activity monitor, a who knows what monitor, was this part of Article 12 protocol or just special to Wash’s case? She leans closer to study the readings.

“What are you doing here?” A hoarse voice cuts through the silence. CT jumps and York almost dropped the medical tablet. Wash’s eyes are open and squinting at them. “Thought I was in lockdown.” York moves to the bed rails.

“Hey Wash, didn’t know you were awake.” York says, leaning over Washington. “Was getting a little worried and well, you know me and locks, buddy.” Wash snorts.

“Wonder the alarms aren’t going off.” CT moves closer as well, and notes that Wash has a hard time focusing on York, blinking his eyes rapidly. “I try not to be.” Wash says voice soft and slow. Connie’s confused for a moment and from York’s head tilt so is he. Washington must have noticed because he clarifies. “Asleep. I mean.” He finishes and stops there. 

His speech is affected and he’s speaking much slower and enunciating much clearer than normal, trying to prevent slurring. She doesn’t need York telling her that Wash has been sedated, heavily, nor does she need Wash’s own input of ‘with like five of everything’, to tell that he is completely drugged. Possibly out of his mind, which might be a good thing, considering what happened to it. She wonders, hates herself a little for wondering, how good his information will be, if he’s drugged. CT looks at York and nods. It’s now or never, she flicks on her HUD recording function.

“Wash. About Epsilon.” Wash’s eyes slowly trail over to her; he blinks a few times, squeezes his eyes shut tight and then opens them wide.

“What about him?” He slurs. CT hopes Wash stays awake just a bit longer. Long enough to confirm what they all hope.

“Did he...did he  _ tell _ you anything?” CT feels horrible for asking but Wash is staring at her. And he doesn’t seem upset. “Anything about the Director and Project Freelancer? Anything at all?” Wash is still staring at her, his pupils wide and dark. He starts laughing. It’s loud and ugly and suddenly he’s crying at the same time. He hands and feet jerk at the restraints from the force of his laughter. CT steps back out of reflex, even as York steps closer. Is this what a Certified Article 12 looks like? York is patting at Wash, making vague soothing noises. CT can understand. He wasn’t able to help Carolina, but here’s someone he can. Wash takes several deep breathes and finally calms himself.

“I’m okay, I’m okay.” He says a few times to York. York leaves a gloved hand resting on his shoulder and Wash turns his head to seek her out. She swallows, not that anyone can see it with the armor and steps back to the bedside. He meets her visor, tear tracks down his cheeks and his eyes bloodshot. But they look clearer than before; he still blinks a few times.

“I need to know, Wash.” Her voice comes out steady and strong, despite how she might be feeling inside. “Did Epsilon tell you anything?” Wash looks contemplative, he licks his lips. Dry cracked lips, CT notes. She wonders who his caretaker in here is, she wonders if he even has one or if they just hook him up to IV’s and keep him sedated. Considering what she knows of the Director and the Counselor, that might very well be the case.

“What would it matter?” He asks instead. York answers for her.

“We’re bringing this place down. But we need to have proof, Wash.” Wash blinks heavily again, tries to shift his leg and gets it pulled up tight by the foot restraints. He looks like he’s debating with himself, it takes less than a minute for him to come to a decision. He breathes out finally.

“No, Epsilon didn’t tell me anything,” He says, in that careful slow way, and CT feels her stomach drop. All the planning, all their hopes, all  _ her  _ hopes, were pinned on what Washington knew. On what Epsilon could have told him. And that was nothing, not a single damn thing. But Wash wasn’t done. “Because he didn’t need to.” York tightens his fingers on Wash’s shoulder, CT is only confused. She tilts her head to York.

“Sometimes, Delta doesn’t need to talk to tell me things.” He explains. Wash rolls his eyes lazily up to look at York.

“I’d watch out for Maine, if I were you, Sigma is a bitch and a half.” He says, his fingers twitch against the bed rails, nails scraping against the metal. “Tex is okay, Omega isn’t. Wyoming and Gamma are trouble.” He continues, York nods, like what he’s saying makes sense. CT feels like she’s just starting to understand, the pieces she’s been collecting are coming together and the final bit to pull them into place is right in front of her. She tries a different question.

“Wash, what did Epsilon  _ show _ you?” Wash rolls his eyes back over to her. And she really feels the full weight of his stare, his pupils still blown wide, two black holes in his eyes, only a thin ring of grey around them.

“ _ Everything _ ” He whispers.


	3. Chapter 3

The two leave Recovery One quickly and quietly. They split up, CT heads to the dorms, York to the canteen. She nods at Tex as she passes, leaning against a wall in the dorms. The two fall into step together.

_ Well? _ Scrolls across her HUD, in the small corner designated for text. CT considers, as the two walk down the halls of the  _ MoI _ .

_ Success _ . She finally sent back. Tex didn’t break stride or give any outward sign that she had received the message.  _ Keep Omega pulled, Wash confirmed. _

_ Understood _ . Tex peels off, stalks away to whatever route she sees fit to use. CT continues on her own way, weaving through the long winding corridors, trying to calm herself after seeing Wash. She finally meanders her way to the gym, approximately thirty minutes after leaving Recovery One and Agent Washington. York and North are there, North doing push up’s, one-handed of course, while York appeared to be heckling him.

“I’m just saying,” She hears York telling North. “a set of twenty is a respectable amount.” North grunts.

“You’re only saying that because it’s the average amount  _ you _ can handle.” CT wanders over to them.

“Hey Connie.” North greets her, once she’s in hearing range. York nods at her and then plops himself on North’s back. “Oh come on, man.” North’s voice is strained and his arms shake at the sudden weight.

“See if you can do a set of twenty now.” York’s voice is cheery and North’s body dips down to the floor to begin the push-up’s, power armor adjusting to the weight. Connie takes this as her cue.

“Knock it off York,” She says, crossing her arms over her chest plate. “You wanted to work on your shot, not bother North.” York bounces off North, and starts to lead the way to the indoor range.

“There’s no reason why I can’t do both.” North’s sigh carries through the vents of his helmet. He pushes himself up fully and follows after Connie and York.

“Since you ruined my workout, the least you can do is provide entertainment.” Inside the range, Tex is already there, in the cubical farthest from the entrance and against the wall, working her way through several clips and up to a new record, it looks like. The three of them take a cubical two spots over from Tex and begin ‘helping’ York with his newfound loss of depth perception. An hour later Tex leaves first and North trots out after her, citing South as his excuse. York and Connie leave last together.

_ Do you really think you can get Maine? _ He sends her, even as he talks out loud about other things he’s had to adjust to, with just the one eye.

_ Yes, they pulled Sigma last night _ . Under the new review, Sigma had been pulled for re-evaluation. Maine had been released from the review on his own. Whatever was going on with Maine, Wash had implied that it was  _ Sigma’s _ fault. And with Sigma gone, Connie was more then sure she had a shot. She just had to play her cards right, and be patient. It’s a good thing she’s an excellent poker player and has most of the time in the world.

 

“We can’t just leave him in there.” York is frustrated, two weeks later, tapping a finger aggressively against the desk.

“I know, but there’s no place for us to break him out  _ to _ .” CT checks the latest transmission, again, even though the information won’t change. “There won’t be for three ship cycles. He’s fine where he is, for now.” It’s true for the most part. So long as nobody's the wiser about their visit to Washington, he’s as safe as he can be on the  _ Mother of Invention _ . The snort York makes, tells her everything she needs to know on how he feels about  _ that _ statement. CT shares it. But there’s no other option, nowhere to hide him, no place to stash a half comatose soldier on this ship. They just have to wait.

 

Connie’s work with Maine pays off. He’s been almost three weeks without Sigma and she’s been talking to him every. day.

She hadn’t been sure at first if what she was saying was sinking in. But little by little, she started to realize he was listening to her.   
He plunks his tray down across from her in the mess hall. York gone to the medbay and North spending time with South. It had been hard on him, with South, recently. The information Wash had was  _ extensive _ and covered every experiment the Director was running. And while he hadn’t had time to tell them everything the man was doing. He’d had the foresight to include the important ones.

Like the Dakotas.

Like Maine.

Like himself.

North was struggling with that information, Maine it seemed, was not.   
_ I want in _ . Maine sends in short burst text, she grins at him. Tips her helmet forward just a tad. Trusts that he can read her body language through the armor to know that’s what she’s doing.

They have all the major players they need.

It’s only a matter of time now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, we're almost wrapped up here.


	4. Chapter 4

Two cycles later she is standing in the Recovery One hall, outside of 17B, inside North and York are doing the heavy lifting with Wash.

“Come on buddy, up you go.” North tugs Wash upright, and Wash flops uncoordinated, like a rag doll, against him. If possible, he might be even more drugged then the last time they saw him. In the corridor, CT keeps watch, so far no alarms or personnel. The section is as quiet and devoid of movement as when they were here before. But that can only last so long. York makes short work of the foot restraints and helps North haul Washington onto him, piggyback, then grabs a few of the medical tablets, from the foot of the bed.

“I don’t think I like this.” Wash mumbles, North snorts and adjusts his body on his back.

“Just bear with it for a few minutes, Wash.” He says, as York unholsters his pistol and double checks the cartridge. “Let me know if you’re going to be sick. I’d prefer not to have to clean barf off the armor.” Wash’s arms weakly grip each other around North’s broad shoulders.

“Okay.” He says into the back of North’s helmet and sniffs.

 

They make it out of Recovery One and halfway across the ship before the alarms go off. Washington groans and buries his head into North’s back. Delta appears in a flash next to York. Theta had been ordered to lie as low as possible for the duration of the escape.

“They have noticed Agent Washington is missing.” Delta reports, Wash has his face mashed against North’s shoulder, and doesn’t notice Delta. CT spares a moment for small miracles. She doesn’t think they could handle Wash possibly having a breakdown in the middle of their escape.

“Time to move it!” CT shouts and the three break into a sprint, dodging down the nearest corridor, heading to the hanger. Wash groans as the movement jostles him, but doesn’t make any sound for them to stop. Turning another corner they meet up with Maine, carrying a bulky black crate. It takes both hands. Between the four of them, only two can actually fight. North would be able to shoot one handed, but CT doesn’t want to risk Wash like that. She runs in the front, North behind her, Maine behind him and York takes up the rear.

They take a corner and run smack into an armed squad. CT takes advantage of their surprise and confusion to get off a few shots. She takes out two and is already backpedaling, North and Maine have ducked back around the corner by the time the squad has pulled itself together enough to fire back. They can’t afford to get into a firefight here, time is of the essence. York hits a panel on the wall, opening the door to a through way and they dart in, CT sending out a few rounds before she hits the panel again and Delta locks the door.

The four agents hustle down the smaller hallway, dodging cameras as best they can. They’re passing by an empty passage when the sound of running footsteps and the figures of armed security run into view.

CT tightens the grip on her weapon. There’s no convient side alleys or rooms to duck into.

They’ll have to go through the security to make the hanger.

She brings her gun up, keeps her breathing even, hears York do the same. Grins at the group text he sends:

_ Game on. _

Game on indeed.

Her finger squeezes the trigger.

Everything dissolves into noise and gunfire and go  _ go  _ **_go_ ** .

 

They manage the hanger. Just barely. York had, unfortunately taken a few too many hits, one lucky shot managing to find the seam in his armor on his leg. He slows down, slows them all down, but CT would be damned if she left him behind. Wash is still grimly hanging on to consciousness, hands hanging limply over North’s shoulders. CT has to hand it to him, the kid is drugged up to his eyeballs and yet refuses to let himself get knocked out. But then, determination, stubbornness and the luck of a survivor are all defining characteristics of Washington. 

In the hanger, 479er has the pelican prepped and ready. It hadn’t taken much to convince her that the only thing Freelancer had to offer was a long road to retirement behind a desk.Tex provides covering fire from the back of the shuttle. CT swings into position next to her as North and Maine rush up the gang way. York manages to limp his way up, still firing shots off as he goes. Tex reaches down and drags him the rest of the way, as the ramp door closes and the pelican continues taking off. CT’s last view of Project Freelancer is seeing the personnel flood the hanger after them.

 

Inside, North had deposited Wash into a harness, his head lolling forward on his chest as North pulled the harness into place. Across from them, Maine pushes York into a seat and sits down next to him, the crate sitting snugly in the storage chamber. CT fights her way to the cockpit and 479er doesn’t give her a backwards glance.

“They’re trying to close the bay doors.” She hisses, intent on the instruments in front of her.

“Can you make it?” CT asks, as she climbs into the secondary seat behind the pilot.

“Can  _ I _ make it?” 479er mimics angrily, she jabs a button on the console, and her hands dance over the controls. Things go smear-y, streak-y, CT can feel her ears pop, a bang and suddenly they are outside, the blackness of space and the glitter of stars around them. “What am I? An ametur?” 479er spits, manhandling the craft into a controlled nose dive away from  _ The Mother of Invention _ . Connie can feel her mouth split into a grin inside her helmet.

“Best damn ametur in the project.” 479er huffs, still pushing the pelican down.

“Do me a solid and get the gremlin up here.” She says instead. CT turns back.

“Delta! Up front!” Delta appears on the console in a flash of green and gold.

“How can I be of assistance?”

“Congrats, you’ve just been made navigator for this little jaunt.” 479er jerks the ship sharply to the right and continues the downward spiral. “Tell me when we’re out of sensory range.”

“Affirmative. At the rate of our descent, we’ll be reaching the end of  _ The Mother _ ’s sensory range in thirty seconds.” Delta’s voice is even and devoid of emotion.

“I definitely don’t like this.” CT hears Wash say very firmly and perhaps the clearest yet, from the cargo hold. She hears North laugh and has to stifle her own into an undignified snort. It’s actually very reassuring. Wash and his dislike of heights, or really, his dislike of falling. Your whole life can change in an instant, in an hour, in the time of a procedure. But some things stay the same. Even now.

Finally, Delta calls them out of range but 479er keeps the downward spiral until she’s satisfied. Leveling off and then hitting the boosters.

“Stay up here gremlin.” She says. “We’re going to need to figure out a course.”

They’re still running, the vastness and blackness of space all around them. Still have three hours before the insurgents’ meeting. Still a chance that the  _ MoI _ will catch them. But CT thinks, hopes,  _ prays _ , that everything will turn out alright.

Behind her, she hears Washington lose it all over the bay floor. He’d been doing a good job but sooner or later the sedatives and vertigo would have gotten to him. At least he waited until they were out of the  _ MoI _ ’s sensors. She hears York’s yelp and North’s:

“I didn’t think you’d have anything in your stomach  _ to _ throw up.” Almost with a touch of admiration and Washington’s rough sounding reply:

“Shows what you know.” Before a second round of retching cuts him off.

“One of you bastards better clean that up!” 479er shouts back at them. “I’m not fucking around!” And Connie does smile then. Because if Washington can joke like that, then maybe there’s something to this after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, that was fun. This has been sitting around on my hard drive FOREVER.  
> In the original timeline this escape comes right when Tex and York abandon the project the first time. It's just CT and everyone else this time around.  
> See ya next time.


End file.
